


Translucence

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Love, M/M, Sex, elio and Oliver in bed, last night in Bergamo, seriously this is SMUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: They’re both really drunk. Elio’s face, porcelain usually, has splotches of red on the cheeks. He clings to Oliver, arms wrapped around his neck, as they tumble into the bed of their rented Bergamo hotel room.





	Translucence

**Author's Note:**

> I keep saying I’ll stop posting about them, and then they’ll sneak up on me... and wow where did this come from!!! 
> 
> Oh well. I hope you like it. Thanks for reading!

They’re both really drunk. Elio’s face, porcelain usually, has splotches of red on the cheeks. He clings to Oliver, arms wrapped around his neck, as they tumble into the bed of their rented Bergamo hotel room. 

Oliver kisses him, and while their kiss just before, the kiss of a lifetime, was passioned and deep, and made sense, this one’s sloppy, uncoordinated, just full of want. Oliver licks the boy’s lips and his tongue, bites his red mouth, because it’s begging him to.

Then it’s like suddenly he’s realised they’re still wearing all their clothes. He kisses Elio’s neck once and then pulls his t-shirt up over his belly and his chest, takes it off. Unbuttons his trousers and does the same to them.

For himself, he just manages to get rid of his own trousers and underwear, but to do so he has to let go of Elio and lie down on the bed, and next thing he knows nude Elio is on him, straddling his hips, hard against his own flat belly.

In all his drunkenness Elio doesn’t miss a beat; he pulls Oliver in between his legs, lets the tip push against himself for a moment.

Oliver wants to stop him - they need lube - but he finds that he can’t. Elio’s flushed face is too beautiful in the light coming through the window.

What are you doing, Oliver wants to ask, because Elio perfectly knows by now that they don’t do it this way; and at the same time, Oliver wants him to. Let me in, he wants to ask. Just the same.

He waits until the tip is inside Elio, forces himself to stay very still even though he’d usually push up into him. If Elio perhaps forces the resistance a little, he’ll pretend he didn’t notice.

He only stops them when he sees Elio’s eyes close tightly, and his teeth sink into his lower lip. He flips them around so Elio’s under him. Immediately, Elio’s pulling up, kissing him, a little less sloppy as if the small pain has sobered him up somewhat, but just as deep as before. 

“I want to feel you, tomorrow,” Elio whispers, just a little voice left in him.

Normally Oliver would fight this; normally he’d be the responsible one, he was the one to teach him after all, he shouldn’t go back on his word. But his hand strokes down Elio’s body, and in between his thighs, on its own accord and Oliver is helpless to stop it. The wine is making him bold and reckless, and he puts two fingers in Elio, just to try, just to make sure. His sober self, somewhere in his mind, knows he’ll be careful.

Elio arches his back, and cries out, and now he’s even more beautiful. Oliver buries his face into the boy’s throat, and knows he needs to reassure. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Shh. It’s just me. Relax.” 

“Oliver,” Elio just says, and his voice sounds dreamy, kind of far away. It’s fine to try.

Oliver removes his fingers and puts himself back in place, pushes in a little, holding Elio down with a hand on his hip. He’s not going to hurt him or hurt himself. He stops there. The hardest part is over and Elio has taken him, and he’ll feel him tomorrow, and maybe Oliver will feel him too - so they got what they wanted.

He stays in him like that while they kiss. Slow, long minutes of mouth on mouth, tongue on tongue. And after that, because Elio is a little minx, he reaches in between them and starts stroking Oliver, the part of him that isn’t inside. Oliver groans, and fights so hard not to kick his hips and push all the way inside, and Elio knows because he chuckles against his lips.

“I want you to,” he begs on Oliver’s face, eyes closed still. “I want you to.” His hand is still stroking Oliver, and Oliver feels himself grow harder still. 

“No.” 

He loves Elio. He’s taken too many risks already which he won’t forgive himself for.

Elio cries out when Oliver leaves, and moans even louder when Oliver’s back, slicked and inside him, all the way, before he even knows it.

“Are you okay?”, he needs to check. Elio is breathing so fast and his eyes are so huge, now in the moonlight, no longer hazel or green or whatever ethereal colour they are, but black like the abyss.

“No,” Elio says, and looks into him.

Oliver knows. He isn’t okay, either.

“You’ll be fine,” Oliver says as he starts moving. He holds onto Elio’s hips with his hands, and talks.

“You’ll be okay. You’ll see. You’ll have - this is just the start. You’ll be happy.” 

He doesn’t talk about himself. 

Elio’s fingers are fisted into Oliver’s shirt, on his chest and he holds onto him like he were a feral animal, body jolting at every thrust.

“No, no I won’t. Oliver. I won’t.” He pulls Oliver down to kiss. “I won’t. I don’t want to. I don’t want a life without you. I love you.” 

It’s just the murmuring of a drunk, heartbroken seventeen year old. It’s just that.

Oliver closes his eyes, and thrusts faster.

Elio will forget about him. Perhaps not tomorrow, with the burn in his belly and Oliver’s come still inside him - but he will.

Oliver won’t. But Elio will. 

Elio arches his back, and Oliver feels the boy’s orgasm as if it were his. He struggles to keep his rhythm, he’s too distracted by the vision under him, but soon his body demands he chases after his own end. He does it fast, Elio’s body’s exhausted, tender, even though the boy knows and lays there and lets Oliver use him with no complaint.

In the end, when Oliver’s hips slam one last time, and he curls into Elio with a groan, Elio is crying.

Oliver lets him. He wants to pretend it’s the exertion - Oliver is double his size, he’s heavy, he’s big, Elio’s body is delicate and breakable - but he knows that’s not it. Not at all.

He rubs two fingers in the pool of come on Elio’s sternum; he brings them up for Elio to lick clean. The white translucence on Elio’s red lips is his reason to live.

He kisses Elio. The taste makes him want to stay like this forever. He doesn’t know when he’ll taste this again. Or if.

But he wants to, and that’s all the knows. If he could, he would stay like this forever. This limbo - he’d be happy with.

Elio’s curls smell of them both when Oliver hides his face in them. Elio falls asleep quickly - cheeks still wet. He’s exhausted.

It’s 2 in the morning. Oliver stays awake. Chases their nightmares away - at least for one more night.


End file.
